


Wolves & Rabbit Hearts

by GoldenThreads



Category: New Mutants, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenThreads/pseuds/GoldenThreads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rahne teaches her first love a new language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolves & Rabbit Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClintFuckingBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClintFuckingBarton/gifts).



> There was originally supposed to be an actual reunion component to this, I swear, but things rather spiraled out of control and then there was no point in pretending it was anything but a lot of raunchy business. 
> 
> Vaguely dated post-v3.
> 
> Dedicated to a very, very precious friend.

They promised to keep in touch.

Rahne broke her promise almost immediately. Every time she looked at her phone, she wanted to send him a message, a silly emoticon, something to say she was thinking of him, but then he’d only ask how she _was_ , and she didn’t want to rain on his hard-earned happiness. A week passed without a word; she’d let go of his hand and now she’d lose him all over. Foolish to ever think she could—

Three messages in quick succession, each with a different photo attachment of Warlock’s silly face.

_**Please tell me he didn’t really invent the selfie…? — D** _

And just like that, the weight lifted from her heart. It wouldn’t be so hard after all.

Scarcely a day passed without a word between them: usually texts about the most inane topics, teasing each other for how very boring their lives whenever a miraculously peaceful week passed, finding every odd excuse to toss questions from coast to coast. Rahne swore half the stories of Team Supreme’s adventures were made up for her amusement, and she pictured them concocting the tales like Mad-Libs.

On weekends Doug and Warlock made the trek out east to visit her. It wasn’t anything like their childhood, but it felt normal in a way she couldn’t place, couldn’t even describe save for the fact that at some rare moments—accidentally dropping a whole plate of lasagna on the couch in a fit of despair at the latest season cliffhanger, star-watching with her head tucked against Warlock’s chest, rolling her eyes as Doug droned on about the language of pedestrian traffic—she forgot she’d ever lost them at all.

More often, that knowledge hung over her like a veil, a funerary shroud she couldn’t quite claw her way out of. Loss had been a constant; companionship didn’t easily fill the gap. But they tried, and she’d glance at Warlock and know he was thinking the very same, and she’d look at the back of Doug’s head and feel her heart shrivel up. Everyone looked at him that way. The thought of him being used to it by now hurt more than all the rest.

She needed to _laugh_. She needed to let herself build something new, needed to believe in permanence even if it was the biggest lie of all. All those foolish little secrets locked in her heart had to go. And if Rahne spoke them aloud, if she could make him laugh with her about those childhood fears and follies, then maybe they’d finally, finally fade.

Warlock always grew flighty whenever the three of them spent time together, preferring them to bask in each other’s company instead of being burdened by his own. He’d sneak away to visit the school instead, or walk the streets picking weeds to snack on and checking in on local squirrelfriends. Frustrating as it was to have him snap between clingy and distant, Rahne suspected he was dealing with the very same problems. And for once his absence played right into her plan.

Doug cooked dinner, as always, and the two of them ate on the couch as some trivial movie played on the television. At first she was distracted by her meal, fettuccine alfredo better than even Jamie’s gourmet dupe had ever managed, and she spooned up every last bite, only barely restraining herself from licking the plate clean. Then it was a twist and a turn of anxiety in her gut: should she say anything? What if he took it the wrong way? He’d know what she _meant_ , but that didn’t speak to his reaction in the least.

Distracted by her inner turmoil, she reached out absentmindedly and brushed her fingers against the nape of his neck, twirling at the soft hair there. His eyelids fluttered shut, only for a moment, one of those little too-human reactions he didn’t have to plan.

“It sounds so silly now,” she blurted, “But back in the day I always thought ye’d be my first— Ach, ye know what I mean.” Rahne pulled her hand away, a bitter chuckle under her breath. She’d thought she’d known exactly how the cards would fall, and the demise of her naivete hadn’t even been half the suffering to come. But here he was. Much, much too late.

He didn’t laugh at her.

When she finally looked back at him, Doug was far from laughter. His face was blank, and she could see him fiddling with the hem of his jacket before he finally said, “I had similar thoughts.”

“Did ye really?” she teased. It was all too easy to strike a wolfish grin and pretend her heart didn’t ache to bursting. “Why, Ramsey, ye little devil—”

“Mostly I thought about kissing you.” Doug twisted his mouth into something meant to match her smirk, a feeble grin falling into place instead.

She would’ve blushed herself into a tizzy if he had ever actually dared to try. “Tis all gone now anyway,” she said wistfully. The way he spoke, it was almost like he regretted it as much as she did. Yet he wasn’t the one who spent years trying to banish impossible dreams. She knew better than anyone that there wouldn’t be a second chance.

“There’s still mine. Firsts, I mean.”

Rahne froze.

Doug glanced over, eyebrows raised, then faltered and broke into a tremendous blush. “T-that was a joke,” he offered meekly as she watched red paint his cheeks with a bone-deep embarrassment.

A tizzy of his own.

It was frightening how suddenly it dawned on her, that potential for pure jealousy, a ferocious determination to never let anyone else see that boyish blush. Rahne wanted it all for herself. Surely the universe owed her that much.

“Dougie.”

He wouldn’t look back at her, not even when she reached out and brushed her fingers along his cheek. Doug thought it was pity. He didn’t _care_ , not about that or lack of that or whatever, only that the words had come unbidden and now he’d muddled up this precious sliver of contentment they shared.

“Dougie,” she said again, more forcefully this time. Rahne’s fingers tugged his chin in her direction, and she felt him take a shaky breath as she ran her thumb over his lips. To hell with words.

Rahne leaned in so close their foreheads touched, noses brushing, and laid her hand over his chest to feel the frantic stutter of his rabbit heart. “Steady now, laddie.” She stayed right there, not yet daring anything more. Being so near to him was enough to make her feel almost—carnivorous. Her precious, darling prey. Hers alone.

Ever since his return, Doug had been skittish around other people, and she kept expecting him to bolt like a panicked colt. But he sat still, he didn’t pull back an inch, as though she was familiar, welcome, _special_ , and he wouldn’t want her anywhere else. Rahne closed her eyes and smiled, content to breathe the same air as him, his panic receding with every stroke of her thumb over his heart.

“Rahne, I—”

She let her lips ghost against his, reveling in the way he fell silent at once. They were too old for it to mean this much, but still, _still_. Doug shivered as she moved her mouth against his, and she wondered if he was comparing it to those boyhood fantasies—nipped at him to make sure it was better. Her free hand came up to card through his hair, gentle as the kiss, and he jolted and remembered to move as well.

His hands settled at her waist, properly north and properly south of more nebulous territory, and he didn’t move them an inch no matter how she squirmed. Rahne wasn’t a steering wheel to be held at ten and two, and she crawled into his lap to prove it, pressing ever closer against him as she linked her hands behind his neck.

It was sweet and simple and made her feel like a young lass again, and it _hurt_. Her mind kept stumbling over thoughts of boys she loved, boys she kissed, boys that were never ever him no matter how hard she tried not to wish it. She didn’t want to be that girl trapped in a photo album, happier than she ever was. She didn’t want this to mirror her unending string of _what ifs_ , linked in daisy chains and tied round her heart.

“That bad, huh?” he whispered, dragging his thumbs through the tracks of her tears when she pulled abruptly away.

“Don’t tease.” Rahne halfheartedly shook her fist at him, then dropped the act to rub at her face instead. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She wanted it to be perfect for him, and now she was the one overexcited in all the wrong ways.

But Doug leaned back in and kissed her forehead, kissed her eyelids, right then left, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her full on the mouth, let her feel his tiny, happy smile so she’d know it was okay, he understood. He tugged gently, hesitantly, at her bottom lip, as though if he couldn’t help the girl he could at least tempt the wolf. Rahne had to admit it was almost working. Not that she’d let the wolf _out_ around him. No way that would end well.

She grabbed at his shirt and pulled him down closer to deepen the kiss, finally opening her mouth and tempting him to do the same. No reaction. Doug didn’t freeze, exactly, but an extra caution fell over him, and Rahne feared she’d scandalized the poor guy beyond repair before at last she realized—he was observing, analyzing the the feel of her lips and the daring of her tongue, calculating how he should respond. There was a joke in there somewhere, something about the language of love, but before the words fell into place he finally, finally kissed her back.

Thank the Lord for quick learners.

His tongue brushed against hers, wet and warm and _perfect_ , lips sliding against hers with intoxicating slowness. No battle, no struggle for dominance, only a reverence that stopped her heart and a desperation that set it beating double time. Every time they parted to breathe, Rahne would catch sight of that tender smile on his lips and lean back in for more. But there wasn’t a hint of innocence in it; it only made her want to mark him even more.

Rahne kissed back along his jaw, traced her lips down the curve of his neck and pressed them against his pulse point, pausing for a moment to listen to his heartbeat.

“This better not be what you taught Warlock,” he gasped, a false hint of horror in his breathless voice.

She bit him.

They both yelped at the same moment, equally shocked at her rough retaliation. Gasping out an apology, Rahne laid rings of kisses against that thankfully unbroken skin, sucked gently enough to soothe without making any further marks. Doug gasped as well, but lower, deeper, and when she ran her teeth lightly along his neck he repeated the noise, sending a shiver of heat through her belly.

Well, shame on her for thinking him a fragile one. Now if only he’d take a bit of initiative and stop breaking the mood.

Rahne dropped her hands and splayed her fingers against his stomach, dragging them along the faint ridges of his chest that she could only barely feel beneath his shirt—it wasn’t even autumn, who wore three layers? She paused to enjoy him every few inches, giving a pointed little hum of appreciation, hoping he’d get the message and mirror the action. Still nothing.

“If ye don’t touch me right this instant, I swear I’ll—”

The rest of her threat was lost against his lips, and Rahne cursed herself for ever giving him the blueprints for such a distraction. But she ached, skin burning hot where he touched and hotter where he didn’t. It wasn’t nearly enough.

At last she pulled away, took a shaky, desperate breath, and asked, “Will ye stay the night with me, Dougie?”

“…Like last time?”

It wasn’t unusual for Doug to sleep on the couch and cook breakfast for her in the morning, but it certainly didn’t sound like that was the plan now. His fingertips trailed lightly over her hip, cautious.

“Not like last time at all.”

As if that wasn’t message enough, Doug read the rest in the glimmer of her glassy eyes. His mouth went dry. Thus far it had been a game of sorts, seeing how happy he could make her, how much distraction his mouth alone could be. _Kissing_ was new enough; he hadn’t considered anything more, certainly not as the outcome of his botched joke from earlier. He’d always promised himself to never, ever ask anything of Rahne, preemptively reading far too much into such a request, despairing of ever causing her to think she owed him anything. He didn’t, couldn’t want anything from her. He’d practically programmed himself that way.

But Rahne herself wanted to—to communicate with him in an extremely physical manner.

Butterflies in one’s stomach weren’t supposed to dip so _low_ , were they?

*

Rahne led him by the hand to her room, but once she shut the door behind them, a sudden panic fell over her would-be lover. She tried to kiss the tension out of him, rubbing at his upper arms, and when that didn’t quite work she asked once more if he was sure about everything.

He swallowed back an _affirmative_ , lest she bite him again, and nodded vigorously instead. “Just—processing,” Doug offered meekly. He didn’t want to mess this up; he didn’t want to misread. This was the one language he didn’t know a word of, and his thoughts wound round and around in endless spirals, a chain of worry he couldn’t manage to break.

“Ye think too much,” she said, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

If he needed a distraction, then she’d give him one and put those powers of observation to work. Rahne strolled to the bed, hips swaying as she went, and crawled onto the bedspread facing away from him. First to go was her camisole. She fingered at the hem thoughtfully, rolling it up just enough to give him a glimpse of skin, then pulled it up over her head and swiftly flung it away. Her arms lingered there, stretched high in the air, and she spent a moment stretching out a false kink in her back, shoulders rolling, the whole expanse of her back taut and lean with muscle.

The soft green of her bra stood out starkly against her pale skin. Rahne brushed the hair away from the back of her neck, drawing his attention to its delicate curve, letting the image linger as her shoulders softly rose and fell with her every trained breath. Finally she reached both hands back to undo the clasp of her bra, shooting a sultry look back over her shoulder at him as she did.

The intensity of Doug’s gaze sent a warm shiver through her, and Rahne welcomed it, shuddering visibly to show him the feeling went both ways. He barely even blinked; she wondered if he even remembered to breathe. Every inch of skin was his alone to appreciate, and judging by the way his eyes raked over her without pause, appreciate he did.

Rahne fell backwards against the covers, the mounds and valley of her breasts bared to him at last, chest heaving, and by the time she heard him suck in a halting breath, she’d already unbuttoned her pants. She kicked her legs into the air like a synchronized diver, graceful as she pulled one pant leg off and then the other. Her fingers stalled at the waistband of her matching green panties, thoughtful, then she linked her hands behind her thighs to balance herself and leaned back far enough to lock eyes with him once more.

Judging by the red of his cheeks and the obvious tightness of his pants, the little flush of pride her own performance inspired in her was not misplaced. Time for the grand finale.

Rahne crawled to the headboard and laid back against the pillows, propped up just enough to give him full view of her flushed skin with her thighs parted so he couldn’t miss the sight of her soaked-through panties. She brushed her fingers over her chest, circling round the peaks of her nipples before trailing lower, the slightest touch against her stomach and the hem of her underwear. As she brought them up once more, she let her fingers dance in a circular, spiraling motion, relying on the intensity of his gaze to follow even the slightest hint of cursive.

_Come join me?_

Doug hissed in a breath, and her heart skipped a happy beat as he finally yanked his shirt off over his head, the undershirt quick to follow. He fumbled at the button of his jeans, frustrated, and—did he just _swear?_ —Rahne laughed and rolled off the bed to go and help. When she reached him, she stilled his hands and settled them on her hips instead, straining up on her tiptoes to kiss him as her own hands skimmed over his chest, outlining the sharpness of his collarbone before inching downward to deal with that pesky zipper. He let his fingers dip to the small of her back, tugging her close enough that her breasts pressed against him, her nipples delectable little points of pressure.

The zipper vanquished, Rahne kissed all the way down the center of his chest, following that faint line of soft hair to his bellybutton and beyond. She tugged down his jeans as she went, kneeled on the floor, and made sure to do away with his socks as well. Leaning in to nuzzle at his cock through his underwear, she kissed along his length and mouthed hotly at the head. He made an indecipherable noise, half gasp, half whimper, and she pulled away long enough to stare up at him expectantly.

Doug hop-skipped right over her unspoken question, gesturing frantically for her to stand bank up. “You’re too far _away_ ,” he whined.

“Aye, aye,” she laughed, dipping forward to kiss against the front of his boxers once more before rising to her feet. Without pause he buried his hands in her hair, pulling her in for a bruising kiss. It made her oddly giddy to know he enjoyed that bit so much, could stand around with the both of them half-naked and be content simply to kiss her for hours on end, but she wanted _more_.

By now Doug was more daring, and though one hand stayed cupped against the side of her face, thumb stroking at her cheek as they kissed, the other roamed freely if curiously across her naked form. Rahne moved that wandering hand firmly to her breast and gave a moan of encouragement, pleased to hear a throaty, answering whimper against her lips. Massaging gladly at her chest, he brushed over her nipples experimentally, letting them catch between his fingers, analyzing the way she arched against him with each new touch.

She growled into his mouth, forgetting herself for a moment as her hips bucked and ground against his, and Doug let his hand adventure down lower to stroke between her legs. Some distant part of him marveled at how wet she was, that he had inspired such a reaction, that kissing and anticipation alone could drive her so far; the rest of him tried to keep standing on shaky knees. He palmed at her gladly, wondering what she looked like, what noises she’d make if he dropped to his knees right then, then slipped past the flimsy fabric to let a single fingertip touch reverently at her entrance.

Unable to gasp out the words, Rahne traced a message on his bare shoulder, spelling out the only thing she wanted.

_Bed?_

And with that magic word, he stepped forward and slowly walked her backwards to the bed, pushing her down against the sheets. Rahne gasped, shivered, as he sucked greedily at her neck, and she grabbed at his shoulders—no claws, no claws—with a bruising grip. He pinned her by the hips, rocking down just barely enough for her to feel his cock drag against her stomach.

_Lower!_

Doug raised his head and gave her a mystified look.

“What?” she laughed, “It works wonders.” Her fingers continued tracing along the parchment of his skin, writing words of affection punctuated with perfect nonsense. It was clear to see he couldn’t focus on a single other thing as long as she kept the words moving. A right Ramsey Whisperer, she was.

“It’s…distracting,” he managed at last, brows furrowed. “All of you is distracting.”

“Ach, what a _lovely_ compliment.”

“There’s a lot to read. A lot I _want_ to read,” Doug added. He sat back on his haunches, shrugging off her hands as he pulled away, and traced along the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thighs. “If you’d be so kind as to let me…?”

Rahne squirmed, hips rising in offering. She couldn’t say no to _that!_ Her exuberance drew a warm, embarrassed smile that Doug was quick to hide against her stomach, pressing constellations of kisses against her skin. He followed her every shiver and tremble as a star chart, reading where to touch, where to kiss, where to let his teeth drag and tease that wolf within. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her panties, he shimmied them down over her hips and helped free one leg and then the other, kissing at her skin as a reward for her trouble.

And then he paused, glanced up and spent a moment too long gazing at her naked form with a hazy look in his eyes.

Rahne poked him in the side with her toe, grinning. “Are ye gunna start waxin’ poetic or— _ah!_ ” Her voice failed her, breaking into a choked whine as he buried his face between her thighs and kissed her like never before.

The smell and taste of her filled his head as a fog, and for the first time Doug could almost feel a wolf of his own in his blood, instinct driving him on to please her as every thought faded away. At first hesitance restrained him, his tongue too gentle, terrified of any misstep that might hurt her, but her every ragged breath brought him courage, confidence when her legs wrapped round his head, certainty when her hands found their way to fist painfully in his hair. He loved it, loved her wet and open beneath his mouth, loved feeling her pulse beat wild, the tremulous flutter of her muscles as he dipped his tongue within her, the way she mewled when he kissed and sucked at her clit.

Her nails raked against his scalp, too sharp, and Doug hummed with approval, delighting in the way her back arched up off the bed with the sudden vibration. He slipped one finger, then two into that overwhelming heat, deeper than his tongue could reach, letting her clench around them as he lapped tenderly at her clit. He crooked his fingers one way and then the other, searching, relying on stories he’d _never_ admit he had read, and she rolled her hips to meet him, the muscles of her stomach tightening as she fell to pieces beneath him.

Doug drank her in gladly, leaving kisses against every trembling inch of skin, then with one last brush of his lips against hers, he crawled back up to nestle against the pillows beside her and watch the jittery rise and fall of her chest.

Dizzy with release, Rahne reached out to thread her fingers through his messy hair once more, pulling him closer so she could rest her forehead against his. Slowly, slowly she found her center once more, breathing steadying, eyelids fluttering closed when she couldn’t stand the warmth of his quiet gaze. The contentment unfurling in her breast was almost unfamiliar, missing so long she’d forgotten it used to have a home there.

“Now can I return the favor?” she asked at last, punctuating each word with a bump of her nose against his.

“It isn’t a _favor_ , Rahne. That implies that—”

She kissed him full on the mouth and put a stop to that real quick. “ _No_. No implication this and connotation that, I cannae _bear_ it, ye silly git. Ye knew what I meant!”

Doug pulled a sour face, the same one he used whenever anyone stymied his attempts at sharing the linguistic wonders of the world, but within a few seconds he was perfectly distracted by the way her fingers traced along his forearm. “I’d, um, well I’d actually prefer if we could…?” He leaned over and whispered the request in her ear.

Blushing not at the words but at the earnest hopefulness in his voice, Rahne gave a nod. “Boxers off by the time I get back,” she warned him with a wink.

There had never been any need to keep anything on hand in her own bedroom, but she thought there might be something in the bathroom they could use. And this way she wouldn’t have to suffer the frustration of teasing even more clothing off her absent-minded lover.

Sure enough, when Rahne returned with a trusty foil packet in hand, she found him waiting naked on the bed with his cock flush against his stomach. He tensed up as she admired the sight of him, sizing up her prey and letting her lips twist into a smirk. She kneeled aside him on the bedspread and reached out to take him in hand, ducking for only a moment just to get a taste of him. Judging by his low moan and the way his cock jumped in her hand, he wouldn’t last much longer no matter what she did, and if he wanted to finish the old-fashioned way then she was happy to oblige.

Rahne swatted away his hands when he reached to help, intent on fixing him up herself. If they’d proved anything thus far it was an astonishing streak of well-meaning incompetence—that bite on his neck had already blossomed an impressive bruise, dark and mottled against his pale skin, and she could scarcely look at it without a possessive heat thrumming in her veins. Doug went willingly when she pushed him back against the headboard, hers to command. She did her best not to think about that little truth as she crawled over him, braced a hand on his shoulder, and guided him inside.

She pulled his head against her chest as she slid down upon him achingly slow, his breath wet against her collarbone. He’d only ever watch her face if given the chance, so she snatched that chance away, suddenly unprepared for the intimacy of him staring into her eyes, suddenly not quite sure what this intimacy _was_ anymore. But as long as she couldn’t see that ardent glimmer in his gaze, she could run far, far away from the question.

Fully seated at last, Rahne gave an experimental wiggle of her hips and relished the way he felt inside her. Even that slight movement had Doug shivering under her hands, mouth trying to work its wonders along her breasts but shaken from its duties with every roll of her hips. She rocked against him, and his hips stuttered upwards to meet her, cadence broken before it began, unable to read the score in eagerness and desperation. His fingers dug into her back, and she gasped at the thought of _him_ being the one to mark _her_ , the noise dragging him closer to the edge as much as the dance of her hips.

With a broken moan against her neck, Doug finally matched her rhythm. She curled her fingers through his hair in encouragement, dragged them along his scalp and back down the curve of his bent neck, let them splay against his shoulder blades and pondered leaving him another message. The muscles there tensed with such devoted concentration she couldn’t help but smile—and _gasp_ , as he hit that perfect spot within her, the one that made her toes curl in ecstasy. She keened his name, back arching, and pulled his head away from her chest for a kiss.

Save for the occasional grunt and moan, he’d been unusually quiet for far too long. Now Rahne could see why: she’d _broken_ him. Doug barely managed to raise his half-lidded eyes to meet hers, pupils blown wide. His skin was flush, sweat-streaked and marred with sparse constellations of bruises, and when she reached out to brush his tussled hair away from his face, he leaned desperately into the touch. Perfectly ravishedand hers, all hers.

Rahne rocked her hips sharply, urgent this time, pressing her forehead to his as their warm, shallow breaths mingled. _Let go_ , she mouthed silently, watching the flicker of his eyes to her lips. _For me, love. Let go._

He came with a voiceless cry, meaning lost as she pressed her mouth against his, devouring every word.

Rahne rubbed her hands down over his chest, easing him back from the heights before pulling them both down against the pillows. There, tangled among the sheets, she smiled as his hand automatically found her waist and snuggled closer against him. His eyes stayed closed for a long time—she liked to think Doug couldn’t bear one more hint of meaning, one more drink of her—and she laid there watching, waiting, wanting to see the first shimmer in them when they finally opened.

They laid there so long, just breathing.

Right when Rahne finally concluded he’d fallen asleep, Doug sat up suddenly and turned to stare at her. She raised herself up on her elbows. He was blushing terribly—ridiculous after all they’d just done—and he worried at his bottom lip before mumbling something. She wasn’t sure what on earth he’d said, the words all blurred together, and he searched desperately for a better explanation.

“Ye have nae got a second wind, have ye?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, it isn’t— _that_ ,” Doug huffed. “Though I enjoyed _that_. I was—can I—?” He pinched at the bridge of his nose and murmured to himself, strange sounds and half-words. She thought she caught something like _tactile intercourse_. “Roll onto your stomach, maybe…?”

Rahne did as he asked.

He crawled over and straddled her hips, then let his fingertips slowly descend her back from shoulders to waist, ten ghostly points of contact. Arching back against his warm hands, Rahne grinned to herself in anticipation.

Mesmerizing. It wasn’t anything as simple as body language, revealing and concealing intent with discernible regularity; her syntax danced and shifted beneath his hands. Doug hadn’t been close enough to another human to notice the way touch spoke, not until now when he wanted to notice _everything_. He memorized the path of her shiver when he breathed softly against her neck, every tense twitch of muscle as he rubbed his palms across her shoulder blades, which rib offered the most delicate, sensitive breadth of skin, all to make her body sing.

He followed clues and misdirection, kissing softly at her skin when he erred with too much pressure, smiling when his teasing fingers uncovered another knot and her whimpers turned to moans. All the metaphors he’d ever heard were wrong: she didn’t react to him, she directed, the slightest involuntary movement as instructive as a conductor’s baton, and he couldn’t stop himself from following her lead, wouldn’t even want to. The feedback was addictive, the way she glowed when he mastered some new secret of her body lighting an answering flicker of warmth in his chest.

But it was the knowledge that she didn’t mind letting him read her like this, that she embraced every awkward intimacy of his special perception, welcoming him to do as he pleased, that caught in his throat and kept any sweet nothings from falling from his lips. Words were insufficient. He prayed she understood.

For her part, Rahne felt like she had all his attention and none of it, as though he conversed with her, but not with her, but with _more_ than her, and it was all terribly confusing and made her head swim. Far easier to melt away under his hands, whimpering softly as he kissed every last bump of her spine. She imagined herself the only language he ever wanted to know, and her heart leapt with an emotion so complicated even Warlock couldn’t name it.

Drifting through half-dreams, content and beloved, Rahne couldn’t begin to guess how long had passed—ten minutes or two hours. She doubted Doug knew, either. The pattern of his fingers had changed, less reading than writing, every soft circle and sharp spiral threaded through with meaning. Rahne didn’t dare pay close enough attention, lest the letters spell words and the words express sentiments he couldn’t yet speak.

“So,” she hummed, her own voice foreign and drowsy. “Guess ye’ve proved the theory.”

“Hmm?” He hummed against her shoulder blades and pressed his thumbs just so at her lower back.

“Ye _are_ fluent in the language of love.”

The gentle touches along her back turned to vicious tickles, and as she shrieked and tried, breathless, to turn over enough to retaliate, she heard him laugh deeper than she’d ever known and say, “I _knew_ you’d say it, I _knew_ —”

Rahne cut him off with a kiss, and for a good while neither let the other get a word in. She’d created a monster by teaching him to kiss; she hadn’t a single regret. But once she’d finally caught her breath, Rahne added hastily, “But not _too_ fluent. Ye could always use more lessons.”

Her hand stilled on his chest, and Doug caught it in his, pulling it to lay right over his heart. He smiled against her hair.

“I’d like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...So, uh, would writing Doug/Rahne/Warlock (or rather gestalt/Rahne) followup get me kicked out of the fandom?  
>  Hypothetical question. Obviously.


End file.
